


Afterimage

by horizon_greene



Category: Music RPF, The Cure (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 09:29:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8244433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horizon_greene/pseuds/horizon_greene
Summary: It was all connected, inextricably linked. There would always be the band, them, this—this need to exchange the fading adrenaline of a show for a different kind of rush.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to mystivy for the beta—and for humoring and encouraging me along the way, even though this isn't her fandom.

Robert had thought it might be different now, after how it had ended before. 

The precise sequence of that final argument—the points of escalation—were lost to him, but there were fragments of memory that persisted in Robert’s brain, despite the near-perpetual drunken stupor they’d all existed in at the time. He remembered the shouting, the shoving, fists flying. He could still see the blood dripping from Simon’s nose and smearing across his face, transforming his sneer into a ghastly, nightmarish shape. The pain in Robert’s knuckles and the bruise on his mouth had lingered stubbornly for days afterward, tormenting him every time he moved his fingers or looked into the mirror.

They’d fought before, exchanging sharp, cruel words—but it hadn’t ever come to blows like that; Simon hadn’t ever _left_. 

It had shaken Robert to his very core, left him adrift and flailing for months.

So it felt like a minor miracle that Simon was back in the band at all, had been there all night whenever Robert looked to his left onstage. Robert hadn’t known what to expect, had thought they might be distant, cautious with each other. Maybe things were still too fragile; maybe it was still too much to expect that they’d go back to all of their previous habits.

But that was a foolish thought. It seemed so obvious now, as Simon pushed him harder against the wall of his hotel room, his knee between Robert’s thighs and his tongue deep in Robert’s mouth. It was all connected, inextricably linked. There would always be the band, them, _this_ —this need to exchange the fading adrenaline of a show for a different kind of rush.

Robert grabbed at Simon, his hand catching in Simon’s collar on the way up the back of his neck. His hair had never been this long before, and he grabbed a fistful and pulled, angling Simon’s face sideways. He slowed the kiss, deepened it, his tongue tracing the familiar curve of Simon’s lips before easing between them. He was dizzy with how much he had missed this, practically clinging to him, and he moaned softly when Simon pulled away.

Simon dipped down to kiss his neck, open-mouthed, and Robert closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the wall. 

“What do you want?” he asked. He knew the answer, he always fucking knew, but he wanted to hear Simon say it.

Simon huffed a laugh into Robert’s skin. “You,” he breathed. “Sucking my cock.” 

Robert flushed with heat and deeply-ingrained need, guiding Simon’s mouth back up to his own, pushing his hair out of his face as they kissed. The slow ease of moments ago was gone; he wanted to get closer, wanted to devour him, wanted Simon to devour him in turn.

He reached down and undid Simon’s fly, slipping his hand inside. Simon exhaled hard and shifted his hips forward, pushing into Robert’s touch. There wasn’t room for Robert to do much more than stroke his fingertips along Simon’s cock, but they both moaned into the kiss.

Simon reached for his hands. “Come on,” he whispered, and tugged Robert across the room.

Between the two of them, they made a wreck of the bed, tipping back onto the mattress and shoving most of the pillows to the floor, kicking the blankets into a hopeless tangle as they kissed and rubbed and maneuvered out of their clothes.

Robert hadn’t forgotten Simon’s words, or the burn they’d sparked inside him, and he pushed Simon onto his back and slid down his body, settling between his thighs. He bent down, tongue swirling familiar shapes around the head of Simon’s cock, lips pursing against the tip in languid kisses. Simon didn’t look away, and Robert lingered there, licking, watching Simon watch him, before he finally took him into his mouth with purpose, sinking down until he reached the base.

“Oh, fuck,” Simon sighed, his thighs tensing beneath Robert’s arms.

Robert pulled off slowly, humming around the wet sound it made. Simon reached out, trailing a fingertip down the center of Robert’s mouth.

“Look at you,” he murmured, and Robert tipped his head back fractionally, exaggerating the tug against his lower lip. 

He knew exactly what he looked like—smudged eyes and smeared mouth, hair spider-webbed across his damp temples. He’d seen the aftermath in the mirror countless times, sometimes alone, sometimes with Simon there, a presence at Robert’s back, peering over his shoulder at their reflection and pressing his fingers against Robert’s cheeks, into his mouth.

It wasn’t unusual to fuck again, right there, watching themselves in the mirror until Robert’s legs trembled, until he ached so sweetly he could scream, until—

His eyes had fallen shut at some point as he slipped into his memories, and he blinked them open to find Simon staring, smiling faintly at him. His hand pushed into Robert’s hair, cupping the back of his head.

“Come on,” he urged, gentle pressure downward, and Robert went.

He had missed this—being the focus of Simon’s attention, the center of his world, Simon’s cock against his tongue and his hands in Robert’s hair. He sucked, greedy for Simon’s touches, for his low, appreciative moans each time he took him down his throat. It was a little like music, in its own way. Robert still knew exactly how to play him, even after so much time apart—knew what would make Simon erupt in noise, what would render him nearly incapable of making a sound at all. 

“Robert. Robert, fuck.” Simon finally gasped, easing Robert off and then pulling him up into a kiss. 

Robert closed his eyes, grabbing Simon’s shoulders in an effort to steady himself. Giving head always made him feel desperately turned on, and he whimpered as Simon’s lips followed the curve of his jaw to the sensitive skin below his ear. He was shaking, settling his body closer to Simon’s, on the verge of mindlessly rutting against him, when Simon pushed Robert onto his back and followed him over, his mouth on Robert’s throat and his hand tight around his cock. They writhed against each other, breathing hard, and Simon’s hand slipped lower, cupping his balls, then lower still.

Robert moaned and arched into the touch, bringing his lips to Simon’s ear.

“Simon, I want—do you have…?”

Simon groaned, sucking hard at Robert’s skin, making him shiver all over. 

“Hang on,” he mumbled. 

He rolled over, off the bed, and when he returned a moment later, the fingers he slipped between Robert’s thighs were slick with lube.

It had been a while, but Simon hadn’t forgotten what Robert liked. Long fingers pressed in deep, curled exquisitely inside him, and Robert jammed a foot into the mattress, extra leverage to push up into Simon’s hand. It was so good, he was nearly sobbing as he fucked himself on Simon’s fingers, but it wasn’t enough, he needed—

He reached between their bodies, seeking. Simon’s cock was hot against his palm, and so wet at the tip that Robert shuddered, knowing Simon was as undone by this as he was.

“Fuck me,” he gasped. “Simon, come on.” 

Simon was staring at him, a strand of hair clinging damply to the corner of his mouth, and he looked as wild-eyed and desperate as Robert felt as he withdrew his hand. Their fingers tangled briefly as Simon gave his cock a couple of hard jerks, and then he was pressing it against Robert, pressing in.

Robert sucked in a breath through his teeth and barely stifled a second, more painful noise as Simon sank into him, stretching him open. There hadn’t been any other men, not since Simon, not—not really. His mind conjured up blurred recollections of strangers’ hands on him in bars and clubs, a brief sense memory of Steve’s lips on Robert’s mouth and cheeks—but he hadn’t taken it any further. It hadn’t been right; none of them had been Simon. But he didn’t want Simon to know about his pointless devotion, didn’t want to have to explain the reasoning behind it. He hid his face against Simon’s neck and wrapped his legs around his thighs, urging him closer.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Simon grunted, shifting with him, sliding in deeper. He began to rock slowly against Robert, tilting his face up into a kiss. Robert opened to him, darting his tongue into his mouth, because kissing Simon was always a reliably good distraction, and he lost himself in it, stroking the back of his neck and pushing his fingers through Simon’s hair.

As his discomfort faded, he became acutely aware of how gently Simon was fucking him, with careful movements that produced little more than glancing, abbreviated friction inside him. It was maddening, and Robert didn’t need to be treated delicately—not by Simon, not by anyone.

Robert moaned into the kiss and tightened his grip on Simon’s hair, then slid his hands to his hips. Simon groaned as Robert dug his fingers in, hauling them forcibly together. 

Simon pulled back, bracing himself on an elbow and grasping one of Robert’s hands, pinning it above his head. They were both breathing hard, staring, but Simon was finally starting to really fuck him, and Robert brought his free hand up to tangle in his own hair.

Simon withdrew until he was barely inside, and Robert pushed up into the long, deliberate slide back in, the angle so perfect that he cried out, curling his hand against his mouth. 

He raised his knees, loosely bracketing Simon’s hips and giving him room to fuck as hard and as deep as he wanted. Robert moaned, easing a fingertip between his teeth, as Simon did just that—again, and again, and again.

Simon’s eyes were dark, his tongue just visible at the corner of his mouth, and he was watching Robert so intently that Robert’s toes curled. Robert knew exactly how to arch beneath Simon’s hands, how to twist his body into pleasing shapes, how to give Simon something really worth looking at. It required no artifice—not when he’d been wanting this, needing it, aching to have it back since practically the moment he lost it. 

“You love this, don’t you,” Simon grunted, stroking his fingers lightly across Robert’s temple even as his thrusts below grew rougher, more demanding. “Fuck, Robert, you’re so—”

Simon didn’t finish the thought, but he bent down and kissed him, hard. Robert cupped the back of his head, eyes slipping shut as he kissed him back. Simon was getting in so deep, stretching him so wide, and Robert couldn’t fathom how he had gone without this for so long.

They were both close. Simon had one hand in Robert’s hair, the other rubbing up and down his thigh until he finally grasped the back of his knee, opening him up wider.

Robert twisted his face to the side, breaking the kiss. 

“Simon, fuck me, fuck me, please—” Robert begged, but he was losing track of the words, losing control completely. He moaned, tightening up around Simon, and he couldn’t think beyond the pressure between his legs, the pleasure.

“Come on,” Simon urged, his voice hoarse and uneven with exertion. “Do it.”

Robert did.

He cried out as he came, hot and wet between them, and Simon swore under his breath, pushing into him even harder.

Robert curled closer to him, drawing Simon down into another kiss. Simon’s mouth muffled the low, satisfied sounds Robert made—noises that rose in pitch as Simon kept fucking him.

It was rapidly becoming too much, and Robert clenched around him, oversensitive. Simon groaned, his rhythm faltering, and he buried his face in Robert’s neck as he came, gasping words of praise against his throat, the sharp edge of his teeth catching on Robert’s skin.

Robert exhaled as Simon shuddered and then went still. His mind was pleasantly empty of anything except an awareness of the heat of Simon’s body, the weight of it, motionless now save for his thumb stroking back and forth across Robert’s knee.

Simon lifted his head and shook his hair out of his eyes, then bent down to lick into Robert’s mouth, tongue barely dipping inside before he pulled out and rolled onto his back.

“Well, fuck,” Simon said, staring at the ceiling. 

Robert hummed and eyed the generous curve of Simon’s mouth, bright red in the lamplight and swollen from Robert’s kisses. His own mouth felt bruised and tender, and he touched his lower lip briefly before stretching his arm above his head, fingers curling against one of the remaining pillows.

Simon’s eyes had closed, and Robert straightened out his legs, wincing as he became aware of all the other places that felt sore and used. It was silent in the room, and his mind was spinning to life again and beginning to wander. Even with Simon outwardly calm and relaxed next to him, Robert could feel a familiar anxiety creeping in, threatening to sour his mood.

Neither he nor Simon had reacted well to the pressures of their prior modest success, and Robert couldn’t help projecting the situation forward. He could sense the upward trajectory The Cure was on, could feel all the music still inside him, waiting to be written. There would be more albums, more tours, more music videos, more promotional appearances, more interviews. It was already laying out like a minefield in Robert’s head, and starting this up again with Simon made it all even more complicated and treacherous. There were so many entanglements—ego, fame, money. There were other relationships that needed tending outside the two of them.

Robert rubbed his hands over his face, exhaling into his cupped palms.

“I thought about this all the time,” Simon admitted suddenly, startling Robert out of his thoughts. “Even when I wanted to bash your face in, I couldn’t stop.”

Robert peered at him over his fingertips. Simon glanced at him, then away, unwilling to hold the eye contact for long. 

“Me too,” Robert said, lowering his hands.

Simon really looked at him, then, and Robert bit his lip, feeling a rush of pleasure at their shared confession, an almost giddy relief at the knowledge that for all the hours Robert had spent sifting through the wreckage of their relationship, Simon had done the same. One-sided obsession was a tragic, pitiful state of affairs, and Robert was glad to have avoided it.

And knowing what it was like not to have Simon at all, to fixate in excruciating detail on everything that had gone wrong, Robert was loathe to lose him again. They’d both been fucking idiots, willfully cruel and awful to each other, but Robert was determined not to repeat his mistakes.

“Should I stay?” he asked. That had been their usual routine, Robert in Simon’s room, Simon in Robert’s room, a natural extension of the early days when they had doubled up as a matter of necessary frugality. It had never been a question before, but while the sex tonight had been familiar, this felt uncertain, in need of navigating.

Simon grinned, rolling onto his side to face him. “Yeah, stay.”

Robert smiled back. Turning off the lights plunged the room into total blackness, but they didn’t need to see to find each other in the dark, bodies fitting together with the ease of long practice.

Simon’s fingers stroked lightly across Robert’s palm, to the inside of his wrist, and Robert’s mind went quiet as Simon kissed him.

His mouth ached, but this was the kind of pain Robert welcomed. If it lingered until the morning, if it lingered even longer, that was no hardship at all.


End file.
